Saiyan Cells
by Bitchii-Usa
Summary: Bulma only wants Vegeta's body for research, but she bites off a little more than she can chew. A one shot requests written for Anon on Tumblr.
1. Chapter 1

_**Saiyan Cells**_

oooOOOooo

The text on the program of Bulma's laptop is taunting her cruelly. Her pinky finger throbs in an angry heat from where she bit the nail too hard, and she sucks on it in apology as her eyes glide over the words. She's searching for _something_ amongst the numbers and data analyzation, as if reading it for the tenth time in a row will change the findings.

Her sigh drips with disappointment as realization sinks in, once again, that it doesn't.

She wants to step away from the computer and take a break, but there's a nagging bolt of electricity humming from her fingers, begging her to continue. And although her back is aching in a way that makes her wince in pain, she hasn't moved- _won't_ move. Not until she finds a solution. And certainly not unless the genetic markings of Goku's DNA can rewrite themselves into something she can work with.

Her eyes are beginning to burn like they're made of sand, and she forces herself to squint against their plea for her to stop. Instead of listening to them, she's shut off the harsh white lights of the lab until the room is lit with only the blue of her computer screen. It doesn't help much, but at least she can focus better. A soft _ding!_ escapes from the monitor and she robotically opens an email from her father away from her documents. She wants to bang her head against the keyboard in frustration as she reads the message.

 _Why don't you ask Vegeta for assistance if you're reaching a dead end? I don't see why he would refuse._

As if she hasn't tried that already, she muses to herself. As if she hasn't casually rolled the question off her tongue over a yogurt during breakfast, or suggested for his help after a shower seemed to cool him off. She's even tried offering favors of _all_ varieties, anything to get more than a grunt of refusal from him. But each time is the same, each response a knock on the door to the last. He eats her up with those eyes of his, so dark and colored with nightmares, and stiffly tells her 'no' before rushing away from wherever they are as if she's the anomaly of his existence. Bulma has learned her lesson of nagging him-especially since he's pushed her against the refrigerator and snarled for her to stay away from him. The cold that swam through her body then is enough to make her obedient in that regard, and she hasn't bothered him since.

But now as she reads the email, her fingers drumming over the keyboard with a reply, she's beginning to recant her silent contract with him.

The boy from the future. He's entered their lives like a thunderstorm interrupting the sun, delivering ill tales of misfortune and doom for their futures. Except Bulma hasn't deduced him to some shady fortune teller, and because of it, she's allowed her curious mind to poke and prod at his prophecies. Goku, the same man who Bulma has known to _never_ get sick, not so much as even a runny nose, is supposed to die of a viral heart disease. The same man who has saved the world for her and others _countless_ of times will finally show them he's human, and fall victim to an intrusion of his body. _How?_ She can't understand it, no matter how many times her brain has gripped the words like a nutcracker. He's not only impossibly strong, but he's not even of this world. If his alien genetics, that can't even become acquainted with the common cold, fall prey to this, what _else_ is he susceptible to? Even though there's a cure provided by the mysterious teen, Bulma can't help but wonder if it's _enough._

But for all her research on his analytics, she's come up with nothing. She's even wondered if it's because of his head trauma, although she herself knows this is a silly theory. But she has nothing to compare it to, nothing to test his cells against. Gohan's pure blooded Saiyan cells have been watered down (or boosted up, depending on who you ask) by that of Earthling blood. And the only other Saiyan present refuses to be "worked on like some testing dummy." But Bulma is growing desperate. Seeing Goku die once is _enough_ ; if there's anything - _anything_ \- she can do to prevent that from happening again, she will. No she can't lend him her physical power, but the strength of her brain has always helped more than hurt.

The doorway to her lab creaks open, and before the sound can fully register in her ears, Vegeta is standing close by, his arms folded and his face the expression of granite. She feels his eyes cut her up with their irritation, but she is far too tired and far too determined to let him interfere. "What is it, Vegeta?" Her words all but wave him off as she turns back to her computer screen, knowing that if he's come down here to see her, then it's probably nothing good.

"I need more bots in the chamber," his voice is dark and dripping with venom, as if _she's_ broken the bots herself. She scoffs after he's finished.

"Vegeta it's almost one in the morning."

She doesn't need to turn to know that he's folding his arms tighter, his eyes narrowing into deadly slits. "What the hell is your point?"

This makes her cast her eyes upwards, her own attitude mirroring his. "My point," she sharpens her words, "Is that there's nothing I can do about it at this hour. Not only is it too late, but I have my _own_ work to get done."

The blue lighting cutting into the darkness absorbs half of his face, making him appear more sinister than he normally is. The silence in the room hangs in the air like a heavy fog, the both of them staring challengingly at each other. A growl works its way through Vegeta's body until it folds over his lips. "I said: more bots, _now_."

"And _I said_ ," she swivels her chair until she faces him completely, propping a leg over the older, "I won't do it at this moment. You can wait."

"But can _you_!?" His voice has lifted like a phoenix, his coal eyes pressing into her blue ones. "Because if I don't train like I need to, you and everyone else on this shitball planet is going to _die_."

This makes her swallow her bitter reply. She knows these androids are coming, and she knows Vegeta is a huge equation into making sure they stay the tinker toys they are instead of the monsters they're said to become. _He's a monster himself_ , she subconsciously thinks, but at least his antics are being thrown at the enemy this time. "Fine," she says lowly, "But if I'm going out of my way to help you, then you need to help me."

"I don't have to do _anything_ ," his words are laced with a threat, and he narrows his eyes so that she knows he means it, "But you _will_ fix these bots."

"Oh no, buddy, that's not how this works. I'll fix your precious bots, but you're going to give me some of your _precious_ DNA _._ " Her lips curve into a smile, but it instantly dims as he takes a few steps forward. She can feel the heat of his skin rolling off him in waves, spilling to her feet and threatening to drown her.

"You idiotic _female_ ," he's speaking so calmly that Bulma's skin crawls with fear, but she masks it with a scowl of her own, "I could snap your neck with two of my fingers, and you _dare_ give me an ultimatum?" His shadow has replaced her skin and she instinctively rolls her chair backward and stands, holding her ground somewhat.

"It's a fair deal, Vegeta. You can be as much help to me as I am to you."

"You're _alive_ and that's more help than you deserve. What you're offering is hardly fair."

"One measly little vial is all I need. I'm not asking for a limb or anything like that, just a _sample_."

"I don't give a damn _what_ you need. I won't be experimented on." Bulma suspects that _again_ is supposed to follow his statement, but his teeth have made his words prisoner, and instead he lets out a sharp breath that's meant to intimidate her. Bulma swallows and takes a deep breath, not wanting to lose this one.

"It's not an experiment, Vegeta. It could be important. Not just to save Goku's life-"

"If it's for his sake than I especially won't do it!"

"- _But yours as well_." She's growing impatient at his stubbornness, but a fleck of curiosity flashes over Vegeta's face. His eyes are all but asking her to continue, so she does. "You're the only other full blooded Saiyan. If Goku can come in contact with a heart disease, doesn't that make you wonder if _you're_ susceptible too? Wouldn't you want to be one step ahead of something happening to you?"

"I'm _always_ one step ahead," he says in his deep voice, although it appears to her that he's saying it with a point to prove, "And I _know_ what Saiyan cells are capable of, both of my own expertise and a professional one. You are not the first scientist that I've come in contact with, although I would say one of the most useful. But considering you're staring death in the face because of your antics, I'm not sure I can say that anymore."

 _What other scientists?_ Bulma wants to ask this, but her lips are frozen. She's sure that someone like Frieza employed only the best of the best –after all just _look_ at Vegeta- and she's curious as to what he may know about their practices. Instead she says, " _Please_ , Vegeta. Help me help you."

He's silent for a moment, although his intense stare has not loosened its grip on her, and Bulma is starting to feel suffocated. "Kakarott's son-"

"-Isn't a pure blooded Saiyan. It won't do me any good to compare apples to oranges." She sees that Vegeta seems to be thinking over her request, so she decides to sweeten the deal. "I'll double the amount of bots I build. I'll make them faster, stronger, capable of more than just shooting lasers at you. I'll make all the necessary tweaks needed to help you ascend to a Super Saiyan."

His jaw clenches, resembling a fish on her hook, and she watches as the line reels itself in. "You swear it?" He asks, taking her aback. Surely the demon in her lab who was threatening her life only _mere moments ago_ , isn't giving her the verbal equivalent of a pinky promise, is he?

Judging from his stone face, he most certainly is.

"On my life I swear it, Vegeta." She raises a hand as a contract of their agreement, offering him a strong smile. "I will start work on it as soon as the sun is up."

Vegeta growls and she knows it's because he _still_ has to wait, but she knows he's intelligent himself. There's no way she can deliver what she's promising so late in the morning. Not if she wants to get his samples in her database and catch some sleep. She's just about to ask him if he agrees when he scoffs and shakes his head. "Fine!"

It's all he says but it's all Bulma needs. With a sound of satisfaction and a pep in her step, lest he changes his mind, she runs to the sink and washes her hands, not even caring to turn the lights of the lab on. She's shuffling through draws for a needle and vials before he's questioning the observation.

"You're going to stick me in the _dark_?"

"Relax," she says, thumbing through a box of packaged needles, "The computer's enough. Besides, it adds a nice vibe in here, don't you think? It's like we're drifting in space."

"Hardly," he grunts and removes his spandex top, letting it fall to her feet. Bulma turns around and nearly drops her equipment, her cheeks growing hot. "Wh-what are you doing?! Why's your shirt off!?"

"Tch," he stares at her incredulously, making her feel like a fly about to get swatted, "How else are you supposed to do this!? Hurry on with it before I change my mind!"

She mutters to himself so low that he can't hear it, and ignores the throbbing in between her legs as she leans over him. Vegeta has a well sculpted physique, one that puts every man she's ever seen to shame, including Yamcha. His body is littered in scars, but she finds them adding more to his appeal, like a rough sketch of beautiful artwork. She pretends not to stare at him as he crosses the lawn to the chamber, or grabs a water from the kitchen, but she's only been _this_ close to him in all his glory once before, and she was too afraid he was dying to pay attention.

But now, as she's sticking the needle in his arm, she can't help but feel a little flustered. Vegeta's skin is warm, a lot warmer than a person made of ice could be, and she loses herself for a moment thinking of how human he feels. The blood in the vial slowly fills up, as if time itself has slowed down for her own torment. Vegeta hasn't moved, not even to curse when the needle has cut through his skin, something Goku would be yelping on the floor about. Given the scars that criss-cross his body like tree branches, she imagines that a needle is the least of his infliction worries.

The vial fills and she switches out for another one, accidently wiggling it around the entrance. "Sorry!" she says automatically as if she's _really_ hurt him, "I didn't mean to do that!"

"Tch, as if I'm one of the weak Earthlings. You should know by your little computer that Saiyans have more durable genetics and are not completely made of salt and water like the bastards you call friends."

This makes her angry, and she jams the needle deeper in his arm, but he doesn't budge. "My _friends_ are not as weak as you make them out to be. If my memory serves me correctly, three of them sure did a hell of a job standing up to _you_."

"And if _my_ memory serves me correctly, two of them _died_."

"That's funny," she says harshly as she fills up the last vial, "Because so did two of _yours_."

Vegeta must have a really high pain tolerance, or doesn't care at all, because one minute Bulma is preparing to remove the needle from his arm, and the next he's got her pinned to the wall, danger flashing across his face. " _Watch it_ ," he breathes out, his eyes intent on some sort of deadly game, "You fragile sheep who roars like a lion." His thumb presses to the base of her neck, and the contact immediately makes electricity jolt through her body. "It is taking me much restraint to not press down right _here_ ," his finger lightly nudges a particular spot, and Bulma suddenly finds it difficult to breathe, "And make everything go dark for you."

"You wouldn't," she challenges, standing a little straighter.

"How do you figure?" A smirk steals his lips, as if he's gotten her where he wants her.

"Because," she's secretly hoping these words don't end up being her last, "Then who would be on your side?"

"My _side?_ " He steps slightly back from her, although his hand is still making direct contact with her neck.  
"If I even required anyone to be in my corner, what the hell makes you think that person would be _you_?"

"Haven't I already shown you that I've been in your corner? I've done nothing but try to help you in your ascension goals. Without so much as a thank you."

"I'm a _prince_. I don't thank the peasants."

" _I'm_ not a peasant, I'm the richest woman on this entire goddamned planet, if not the smartest, you've said so yourself. If that doesn't make me royalty in your eyes then fuck you! I've been nothing but good to you, Vegeta, and all you've offered me are insults and threats."

Vegeta's face flashes somewhere between rage and intrigue. The heat of his fingers warm her neck, the whites of his gloves painted a pale blue by the computer. His eyes are locked into her, and hers into his, and their silent stare down shifts into a darker territory than Bulma anticipated.

"I have and always will be _alone_ ," he seethes, "And if you think that someone as inferior as yourself can change that, you're wrong." He pulls the needle out of his arm and crumbles it into ash as if it were made of sugar. He flicks the remains to the floor and continues to burn a stare into her.

"Who wants to be alone?" She doesn't know why she's entertaining this portion of the conversation, but something about the way Vegeta says it makes her heart fold. Bulma, very recently, understands the shitty part about being alone. "Who can _stand_ it?!"

" _I can_."

Bulma clutches the vials in her hand and narrows her eyes at him accusingly. Gohan told her of what happened on Namek, including Vegeta's very emotional final words to Goku. There was pain in the spaces of his bloody teeth as he told of what Frieza did to his people, Gohan said, and it certainly doesn't fit the bill of someone who claims they don't care about isolation. Maybe he has grown used to it, and maybe he doesn't know any better, but if Vegeta doesn't care, then why is he here?

"Liar," she spits out in the shade of a whisper, "You can't stand the loneliness either. It's always written on your face." She studies his features, half presented to her in the glow of the blue, and a clenching hits her stomach the same way it always does when she stares at him for too long. Bulma doesn't know if she's just more sensitive to his isolation since her own breakup and the lack of visits from her friends, but she feels like she can see something hidden under his features that he won't speak of.

His lips curve downward, and Bulma shuts her eyes as she prepares herself for a round of curses that she suspects he'll fling out. Instead, the warmth of her neck is gone, and he merely breathes out, "You've gotten what you've asked of me, so I expectwhat you've promised in the morning."

She opens her eyes and is ready to find him gone, but he's still there, staring at her through a sliver in the darkness. He doesn't look angry, although the tone around his words suggests otherwise. She nods her head, unsure as to what he's expecting of her to say. He glances down to his arm and the tiny trail of blood oozing out of it. Is he…is he asking her for a _band-aid_?

She shakes her head in disbelief, walking towards the cabinet to get him one. She turns around and he's closer, looking at her with hardened interest. The heat in her cheeks rise as she can't figure out what she's said to make him intensely stare at her like this, but she takes the band-aid out of the wrapping and puts it on him anyways. She's about to take her hand away from him when he grabs it, the black moons of his eyes still pressed into her own.

"You don't know a _thing_ about me," he says and she suspects that he's been chewing over what to say all this time, "So stop pretending like you do."

She glares at him as the fingers tighten on her wrist, but she doesn't back down. "I never pretend to know what's going in that thick head of yours. I only observe and call it like I see it. You're lonely, and rather than utilize the company around you, you treat them like absolute _trash_."

"Who the hell do you think you are!?" He's stepping closer to her now, his lips curved around a snarl. "I am a Saiyan _Prince_! The only reason I deal with you and your family is because you are of use to me _now_. Keep chastising me like that and the need of you will _greatly_ diminish."

Bulma had _enough_. She's tired of Vegeta and his senseless snobbery, of his bad guy antics, of his overall rudeness. She's tired of this back and forth game with him, these snips that _always_ result in her life being threatened and for her to feel like she is the equivalent of dog shit in his eyes, albeit an _intelligent_ one. All she wants to do is help her friends in _some_ way, considering in two and a half years she is going to once again be a mere spectator, and he is a constant thorn in her side during the process. She steps forward to him until they share the same air, and she is sure that the blues of her eyes burn with an unruly fire. "Back! Off!" Her index finger finds its way in the middle of his chest, earning her an eyebrow raise from him. "Stop taking out your baggage on me! Saiyan royalty or not, you still need to have decent mannerisms, especially when you're living under someone else's roof!"

"Woman, I suggest that you move your finger-"

"And another thing! It took you _three_ months to _finally_ give me what I'm asking for, and meanwhile, I slaved for you! And you have the nerve to insult me further!"

"I swear on my entire race I _will_ break your finger if you don't-"

"You prance around here looking sad and miserable and 'Super Saiyan' this and 'Kakarot!' that, and I try, _try_ , to do everything I can to make you comfortable and successful and even be a fucking _friend_ to you, and you still treat. Me. Like. Shit!" Her finger is jabbing his chest with emphasis on her words, and she can feel his body vibrate with a rumble. If Bulma doesn't realize she's playing with fire, especially by the way he's gripping her wrist, it's because she's too hot herself to care. "Would it _kill_ you to show some freaking gratitude?! You're not the only one coddling hurt feelings, you know!"

"Don't try to give me grief because of your incompetent ex-boyfriend! If he were here, I'd kill him again by my _own_ hands just to show you how much I don't care about your little _hurt_ feelings!"

"Fuck you, Vegeta!"

"Fuck _you_!"

Their chests are both rising and falling in a synchronized rhythm, their eyes angry and accusatory and directed at the other. Bulma feels the skin of her wrist burn against his glove, and her own finger is still pressed against his chest. The computer screen behind him blinks, immersing them in darkness briefly before it turns back on again, although the light is softer than before, making it difficult for her to see. But there's no mistaking that Vegeta is staring at her furiously, probably plotting the ways to kill her in his head. But that's okay, because so is she.

At least, that's what she's _initially_ thinking, before she feels his thumb rotate in tiny circles around her wrist. It makes her skin jolt awake as if the material of his glove is made with caffeine, and her breath hitches in her chest. Even through the almost-darkness, she can see that his eyes have lost that sharp, deadly edge that he once displayed, and instead he's looking at her as if he has a question. Bulma feels her stomach twist over into a cloud and she realizes how close she is to his shirtless torso, and how warm it feels against her finger. Against her better judgement, she brings her palm to rest on his chest, letting his skin swim beneath her fingers. She expects him to throw her hand away from him and threaten her again.

He doesn't.

He looks down to his chest where their skin is meeting, the computer blinking again so that she can't see the expression on his face. When the monitor resumes its dim lighting, his face is closer to hers and his forehead is tense with confusion. Bulma recognizes that look; as a scientist, she frequents that expression herself. It's the very one she gives when she's studying something and wants a closer inspection. A more tangible approach to the subject matter, if you will.

Her legs move her backwards until she's against the counter under the medical cabinet, and to her surprise he's moving with her, his hands still circling her wrist. His affixed gaze over her is smoldering, gobbling her up and spitting her out until she's nothing more than bone. What's he doing? What's _she_ doing? What happened to their argument? What about her research? His samples? The questions collide against her brain like a freight train, the loud horns ringing in her ear about _what the hell are you doing, Bulma?!_ But she's tranced by whatever this is, knowing their ill words lay on the floor behind them. Her words echo in her head until they fade out, her chest thumping away until it moves down through her belly and slides into the depths of her legs, making her suck in a sharp breath. Vegeta places and arm on her side and places it on the counter, trapping her between him and metal. She should be afraid, and normally would be, but now she can't help but feel the anger towards him dissipate into lust.

She remembers her last words to him and thinks that yes, she would most definitely like to _fuck him_.

"Vegeta," she whispers, trying to get a hold on her nervous breaths, "What are we doing?"

He doesn't say anything, instead appearing to mull over her question, his face showing that he's been wondering the same thing. She's prepared for him to gather to his senses, but when he doesn't, she feels a little courage. The computer monitor blinks off again, and she uses the opportunity to crush her mouth against his.

His lips are like hot molten lava, and she relishes in the heat as she drags his bottom lip in between her own. He's standing there as if he doesn't know what to do, or rather, doesn't _want_ her to be doing this, and suddenly she's embarrassed. The room is illuminated again and she pulls away, feeling the immediate need to get him out of her lab. She tries to squirm out of his grip, letting go an apologetic laughter. "I should umm, get your samples in the database so that I can-"

Before she finishes her words, his lips attack her mouth, kissing her hard. She's surprised but melts into it, kissing him back and meeting his intensity. She lets out a moan as his tongue intrudes the confines of her lips, his hand leaving her wrist and finding her waist, kneading it with a gentle force. Bulma wraps the free limb around his neck, pushing his head closer so that she can taste him more. And _god_ , does he taste good. Like a cinnamon candy: a sinful, spicy treat that she wants to lick off of her fingers. His tongue is dancing wickedly in her mouth, his hand moving up to run his fingers down her neck. A pleasurable sigh escapes her lips and she arches her neck, her bottom lip being pulled as he drags it away with his mouth.

It's impossible for her to believe that _this_ is happening, especially with Vegeta. He hates her, doesn't he? After all, he's never so much as batted an eye when she's wearing clothes that would have given Yamcha a nose bleed, and any advances she may have flirted around in the past were met with a flat out flustered refusal. But here he is, his tongue running up and down the smooth column of her neck, and her fingers tangled in his hair. Her body feels like it's going to combust every time he sucks at her skin, and she throws her head back and groans, an impatient need beginning to radiate below.

Vegeta picks her up and sets her on the counter, not even bothering to look at her face before removing her top and eyeing her breasts. The fickle computer blinks again, and the second the night swallows them, she feels his hot breath around her nipple, his wet tongue lapping over her skin relentlessly. She wants to take the time to access the situation, but right now all she can do is surrender to whatever the hell this is. She's afraid he's going to stop right here, come to the realization that he's really a cold hearted prick and sexual acts with an Earthling are beneath him. But his gloveless fingers slide beneath the fabric of her panties and Bulma lets out a gasp.

He rubs against her clit, her mouth still sucking away at her breast, and Bulma feels like she's fighting an unfair game. He lets her nipple go with a cruel _pop!_ and brings his head back up to hers, just in time for the monitor's light to let her see his face.

"You're wet," he says as more of a statement than one of admiration, and his fingers move faster, making her head drop as she cries out. He chuckles darkly, using his arms to push her thighs further apart. "Filthy, vulgar _woman_ ," he says in a whisper, his fingers circling her slippery clit meticulously, "Moaning like that for the enemy."

"You're _not_ the enemy." She says, her head still lowered, her moans coming out in short bursts of breaths, "And even if you— _aah!_ —were, just… _fuck…_ right there, Vegeta. Don't stop!"

He chuckles again and moves his lips back to her neck, obeying her command as he massages her sweet spot over and over with his deft fingers. Bulma's body heats up in shades of red, her hand wrapped around Vegeta's neck tightly as he continues his magic. It's almost as if he's read a book on how _exactly_ to do this as he's not yet missed a beat of her pulsating clit, and she feels herself about to slide over the edge, her words of arousal getting caught in a tangle in the back of her throat. She's there, she's almost there…

But then his hand is gone and her panties with it, and Bulma feels the cruel cold air of her lab blow against her wetness. She brings her head up to glare at him furiously and ask him what the big deal is, but the computer blinks the room dark and she feels his solid cock at her entrance.

His forehead leans against hers as he effortlessly glides in, a feat he can thank himself for, and they both gasp at the intrusion. Bulma fits around him perfectly, molding to a precise fit every time he pulls out and sinks back into her again. The counter squeaks as he picks up his pace, his internal grunts turning into vocal pants, and his hand massages her jaw as she loses her sensibility.

Her mouth flings open and she tries to croak out some sort of gratitude for the pleasure he's giving her, but she comes up empty. All she can do is succumb to his torture and give it back to him, meeting every thrust head on until the slapping of skin drowns out the lab. She can see his face again thanks to the computer, and he's staring at her with the softest eyes she's ever seen him with, even though they're clouded by lust. His mouth hangs open as he once again dives in, hitting a certain spot that makes Bulma squeal. She closes her eyes and rides the wave until she's far away and can't see them anymore.

"Bulma," his deep voice breaks her thoughts, and she is overcome with surprise because _he's never called her by her name before_ , "Open your eyes. Look at me."

She does, and she can't believe the words are coming from his mouth. He's different right now, she analyzes, and it's hard to believe that this man who carries the blood of many on his hands is being an open book. He's barely holding on himself, with the wetness that glides over his cock like silk making them both tip towards the edge, and his eyes hold an animalistic restraint that she's never seen before. It's just enough to make her cum.

Before she does, his hand finds her clit again and massages it firmly, applying more pressure and moving much faster than the first time. Bulma can't take it. _Fuck_ he feels so good, from the way he's pounding into her until she feels like she's going to break, to the way her clitoris is singing under his fingers. It's so much, such an insane buildup to one of the greatest orgasms she knows she's going to receive.

She leans forward and kisses him, crying out her final wave into his mouth and he swallows it. Her body feels like jelly as she cums, swallowing her up in the cruelest yet most blissful of ways. Vegeta tips over the edge of his own arousal, plummeting into her with such speed that she's wondering if he's ascended at this very moment.

Slowly, she comes back down from nirvana, emerged in the blackness of her office again. A laugh tickles her throat because _holy shit that was amazing and it came from Vegeta_. She pulls away from his kiss and is preparing to lean her forehead against his before she feels nothing but air. It takes a second for her to realize that he isn't there, and the computer reveals that he's cleaning himself up with a Kleenex. Bulma waits for him to return to her, but she watches as he washes his hands and grabs his spandex shirt, heading for the stairs.

"Umm, hello!" She says angrily, pulling her top up, "Where are you going!?"

He stops and she can see his fists clenching, and he slowly turns his head over his shoulder. His face is in a state of bewilderment, as if he can't believe this has happened either. She knows he must be feeling the post effects of an orgasm, but if he is, it's masked behind his defensive expression. "I— _you_ -we," he sputters out, looking at her with a mixture of confusion, lust and anger. His lips shut and he takes a deep breath, trying to regulate himself. Finally he turns back around and heads up, but not before flatly saying, "This was a mistake and it will never happen again. Never mind those bots, I do not require them any longer."

Bulma is confused, hurt and upset by his reaction, and she's still sitting on the counter for a long time afterwards, only the slippery coldness of her vagina any indication of what just happened. Her computer flashes to a bright light and a notification pops up, displaying that someone is attempting to disengage the spaceship. She feels her eyes burn with tears as the box asks for her permission to release the locks, unable to believe that Vegeta could be such a coward. She hops down off the bench with shaky legs, and walks over to the computer, not bothering to even look at the thing as she punches in the keycode and accepts the request. She sits down in her office chair, uncaring about her naked bottom against the material. Vegeta _definitely_ made it apparent that he wanted exactly what they engaged in, but now he's being an asshole and running away because _of course he would_. It hurts far more than she'd thought, than she'd like to admit, and as Capsule Corps shakes with the departure of the ship, Bulma sinks down in her chair further and hugs herself to keep from crying. The asshole means what he says about isolation, after all.

She looks over at the abandoned vials on the counter, completely undisturbed despite their workbench fuck, and glares at them with accusation. She gets up and throws them in the mini fridge, completely pissed that they were the reason she's forced to feel this way. _Stupid Saiyan Cells_ , she vents internally, plopping down into her seat and shutting off her computer, _I hope to never have to look at them again._

oooOOOooo

 _Whoo! I only meant for this to be a one shot, but this ended up being a full chapter haha. Sorry if its too long, but hope you like it anyway, precious anon! I also hope your work week is a little better because of it!_


	2. Chapter 2

_Wow guys, thank you all so much for your reviews! I didn't expect you guys to want more haha, but I figured what they hey, I can squeeze another chapter or two out. Unfortunately, I'm not sure how to turn this into a full story, and in between writing Concerto and recently feeling the desire to go back to Oddyssey (if you guys haven't read it and would like to, I'd love to know what you think) and I still haven't gone back to Swapped (sorry), I don't know if another full length story can be accomplished at the moment. But I hope you all enjoy what I've got here anyways!_

oooOOOooo

Forty seven. Vegeta reads the unread inbox on the dashboard of the spaceship, but the number doesn't change. He has forty seven messages that he's purposely ignored from Bulma since he left nearly three weeks ago. He hasn't meant to, but he's accidentally opened the last one she sent only an hour ago, and for once, he's glad he did.

 _You don't have much fuel left. If you don't hurry back to Capsule Corps, you'll be stuck wherever the hell you are._

Vegeta grits his teeth and sulks against the control panel, contemplating if being lost in the darkness of space outweighs the turmoil that awaits him at Capsule Corps. _Stupid woman_ , he seethes mentally. _Stupid woman and her stupid witch craft of a body_ that almost makes him forget who and _what_ he is. Vegeta is a predator, a late night phantom with devilish fingers that ignites everything he touches. It's what he was trained to be, and despite whatever nonsense he spewed out to Kakarot on Namek, he knows that's who he will always be. He can taste the aura of his own mischief on the surface of his tongue, and he finds the sinful flavor delectable. Comfortable even. And he doesn't appreciate the bitter aftertaste that remains in the spaces of his teeth from Bulma's kiss.

The memory floods his mind like a hurricane, biting at the edges of his sanity with such force that Vegeta clutches his head as if he has a migraine. He feels something that a prince of pride should _never_ be accustomed to: shame. Shame at her for sleeping with a killer, for her sapphire eyes that were set on fire by her sharp tongue, for thinking that she could speak to him in such an obscene manner. But mostly, Vegeta feels the shame for himself. How could he listen to the most selfish part of his body, the part that he's been fighting for months now after living with the siren?

Vegeta slumps down to floor in a fury of self pity, resting his arm on a propped knee. He stares out at the black void through the window, watching as the stars whiz past him with no remorse. Even with the bright white lights of the ship, the glow of the stars manage to help further illuminate the room, and Vegeta reaches up to press a button that will cast the ship in shadows. _It adds a nice vibe in here, don't you think? It's like we're drifting in space_. Her words echo through his brain until they intermingle with his own thoughts, and as the lights diminish into darkness, he realizes that she's right. He's watching the stars with renewed interest, as if in this moment, he's nothing more than an adventurer of his own accord, seeking out the treasure that is Super Saiyan.

Vegeta curses under the weight of his tongue, unable to believe that one orgasm -albeit the _best_ one he's _ever_ unloaded- has this sort of effect on him. He's always prided himself on his restraint, but the second he steps foot on the mudball planet of Earth, _she_ is the one to test him. He remembers icily one afternoon in particular after an intense bought of training. He'd broken the bots - _again_ \- and is searching the compound for her. He flies directly above the mustard dome building until everything below him resembles an insect he wants to squash. He finds her near the garden with the scar faced man -Yamcha, the inferior fool who thought he could last in a warrior's battle- and she's practically throwing herself on him as he's sucking her neck. Vegeta is disgusted with the display, and yet he's unable to stop watching them. Not for _Yamcha_ , but for her. For the way that she's sighing as she leans against the side of the building, getting lost in whatever the imbecile is doing to her. For a fraction of a second, Vegeta wonders how she would sound if it was _him_ holding her milky thighs against his abdomen, or how she would taste if it was his tongue licking her up like cream. Vegeta's cock has never been deprived of the warmth of a female creature, but those moments were more out of necessity than desire. And the twitch in his pants that accompanies his peep show definitely lets him know that he can ejaculate in _more_ ways than survival until his next lazy fuck. The thought sickens him so much that he neglects to ask her for help, and instead goes on a search for her father. At least he doesn't have to worry about an unwanted hard on in the presence of Dr. Briefs.

But now – _now_ \- he knows what it's like to curl himself inside of her, what it feels like to have her cum all over him like sweet honey, and it's a memory he wants to wash out of his mouth like a bad meal. But he can't stop the way his fingers still smell like her, even though he's washed his hands enough times to make him a poster boy on hygiene. And it's _all her fault_. _Cell research my ass_ , he thinks, unable to place blame anywhere else but in the shade of blue, _she just wanted to use me for her own personal dildo._ And like a fool, he'd let her. And like a bigger fool, he'd even enjoyed it.

In fact, he thinks for a millisecond about how he enjoyed it _much_ more than he thought. How every part of him that was pained with his own loneliness (he will _never_ admit that truth to her or anyone else) had diminished with every stroke inside of her wet pussy. How her flesh is made of the softest minerals he's ever touched, and all he wants to do is knead at her skin like she's dough preparing to bake. But Vegeta doesn't see the good in any of this; if there's one thing he's learned from the female species, it's that they get attached. Whores, commoners, royalty, and yes, even scientists, _all_ _of_ _them_ are the same. He can only imagine what those messages say. And suddenly he's hit with the curiosity to know what _exactly_ she's left for him to read.

With a cloudy head, he's propped himself back to his feet and is standing over the panel, looking at it like it's an enemy he's about to obliterate. He can't bring himself to touch it, lest there's something in there that infuriates him further, like a naked photo or something. He knows her enough to realize that she's _definitely_ not ashamed of her body, and in fact appreciates dawdling it around like steak to a hungry man. _And you're the bastard that took a bite, you moron!_

With a snarl, he hurriedly presses it, scrolling to the very top until he reaches her first message, sent to him only a day after his departure. It's brief, the word _ASSHOLE!_ plastered across the screen in thick black text. This makes a smile flutter over his mouth like wings, and now he's a little more excited to see what else she's saying. It's easy this way, he muses, if all she's going to do is hurl insults at him. More exciting, if he can admit it to himself.

The rest are a mirror of the first, calling him a coward and a scumbag, and even going as far to say that Goku is a more standup Saiyan than he is. This insult hits Vegeta in the chest like a brick, and he presses the garbage can icon until the message dissolves from the screen all together. The rest of the messages are boring; mechanics this, maintenance that, and Vegeta is surprised to find he's slightly disappointed that there are no images of pink nipples or intricately cut blue tufts of hair. A hot tornado swirls around his abdomen as he remembers how she looked propped on the counter, practically naked save her skirt scrunched around her belly, and Vegeta can feel her phantom juices swallowing him whole, her moans for him ghosting in his ear.

He's scrolled through them all, and nothing has cemented in his brain as being too needy, although one message indicated something more than her words. It was short, choppy even, but he imagined that her teeth were grinding into each other as she typed it out. _It's still our ship, Vegeta. You can't just steal it. We need it back. Dad needs to run tests on it_. This makes him laugh darkly. Is she _really_ trying to say that he _can't_ steal? The same man who literally stole _planets_ from maybe innocent people, is getting chastised for stealing something that they could build in a week? She is growing desperate, and he's willing to bet that she knows it too.

Suddenly the screen flashes brighter than normal, and as Vegeta is about to exit the messaging log, he accidentally accepts the call button. He's just about cursed his mistake when the image of her has filled the screen, sending a jolt through his body that's worse than when Frieza would suddenly appear on his pod's intercom. Her eyes look tired but focused, and they're practically covered by her thick, blue bangs that swim across her forehead. She's cut her hair, he observes, but he doesn't want to tell her that. He doesn't want her to think that he's paying attention to anything she's got going on, not at _all._

"Vegeta," her voice is soft, but the sharp edges of her words are unmissable, "You haven't responded to anything I've sent you so far." Her eyes are accusatory, and he's refusing to bite her bait. He almost wants to hang up, and his finger is even hovering over the red 'X' on the screen, but for some reason, he doesn't press it. He shrugs it off as entertainment, even though the turning of his belly tells him otherwise.

He clicks his teeth and looks away, the glow of the stars behind him sporadically lighting up the room. For seconds at a time, the only visual light is the screen painted with the electric blue of her hair. Vegeta compares the color to a lightning storm.

"Well, fine!" She raises her voice and he turns back to the monitor, seeing her eyes spark with the same anger that flashes over his own, "You can be a complete idiot and drift off into space forever if I care! I only called because 1) You're running out of gas, and 2) I thought you'd be curious as to the results of my research!"

She's managed to tickle the itch of his curiosity and his eyebrow raises. "Research results, eh?" His tone shows that he doesn't believe her for one second. "Are you sure you're not calling because you missed the way I filled you up like some desperate little whore?"

He can practically taste the fumes that steam from her head, and she's gotten closer to the monitor, her lips curling over her heated words. "You impossible _asshole!_ That's what your title should be! Vegeta, the Saiyan Prince of all Assholes! And don't you even think of including Goku in those subjects of yours, either!"

Vegeta growls in warning, but her facial expressions don't change. This is what made him buckle under her spell the first time; her insatiable anger. Vegeta knows the Earthlings are weak and they care too much, her included, but when she's alive in her wrath like this, a familiarity of home replaces his heart beat, reminding him of the strong and mouthy Saiyan women. It's enough to keep the call going and for him to not immediately plot her execution. "Kakarot in my mind is only a Saiyan by blood. You pathetic Earthlings have made him one of you, and that's the biggest slight I will ever take. "

"Hmph," she turns her nose up at him, a cruel smile stealing her lips, "You could learn a thing or two from Goku, you know."

"Like what?" His face has contorted into an offended expression, and he's clutching the sides of the panels with fury, "How to be an annoying third class clown!? Because yes, he would be the expert on that!"

"Maybe how to treat people who give a damn about if you live or die! Or maybe how not to be a fucking coward and run away from something you _obviously_ enjoyed!" Bulma's chest is rising and falling rapidly, her eyes glinting with words that she has locked under her tongue. She has stolen the reply from Vegeta's lips, and he finds them engaged in a silent standoff, their intense stares slicing each other into pieces.

Finally she breaks it, clearing her throat. "Look," she says and closes her eyes, and the memory of _"Bulma…Open your eyes. Look at me,"_ resurfaces. He sets the visual image on fire in his mind. "I didn't phone in to argue. If you don't set the coordinates to come home, you _will_ be lost out there. And I don't think even a Saiyan prince can breathe in the vacuum of space."

"For a smart woman, you sure are pathetically stupid."

" _EXCUSE ME!?"_

Vegeta chortles, shaking his head at her disheveled appearance. "I've traveled to more galaxies than you've seen birthdays. Just because you make _one_ excursion in space, doesn't mean you're some sort of expert on travel." He clenches his jaw as his truth is embellished, but he doesn't want her to see the worry in his brows. "I'll be fine. Worrying about me is an early death sentence for you."

She sighs dramatically, dropping her head and running her fingers through her hair. "You are a grade-A piece of work. I don't even know why I bother." She brings her head up slowly and stares at him with honest eyes that have softened. "Yes I do," she admits, "It's because I care."

Her words startle him into sputtering. Care? _Care?_ She…cares? Impossible. There's no way a woman who has recently returned home searching for dragon balls to bring back the friends that _he_ had a hand in killing cares about him. No possible way at all. What the fuck is she getting at? What game is she trying to play? Vegeta's mind rehearses the last time he's heard those words, back when he was an early teenager who thought he had outgrown Frieza's rules. His body is broken and raw and blood seems to leak out of him in places that he didn't even think were possible. His broken wrist is being cradled by his almost shattered other one, and his eye is so swollen that he can barely make out the beings in the room in front of him. Zarbon and Dodoria are looking at him like he's nothing more than a royal jester, and Frieza is wiping his hands clean on a rag that is soiled with Vegeta's blood. Frieza turns over his shoulder and flashes Vegeta a smile plagued by wickedness, and says in that goddamned effeminate voice of his, "You know, I really hate having to discipline you like this. It's only because I care about you _so_ much, my loyal monkey prince. But the second your loyalty wavers from me again, well…." Then Frieza had casually walked to him and struck him in the face with such force that Vegeta knew the blackout was his death. It was only the cruel twist of fate of him waking in the healing tanks that made him realize that he was once again, in the underbelly of hell.

And now here she is, toying with him the same way. Telling him she cares when it is by _her_ hands that he is suffering. A growl slithers through his chest like a rattlesnake until the venom escapes through his teeth. "You are an absolute _fool_ ," he says in a dark tone, "You _care_? If you really cared, you would have never tried to seduce me with your witching ways!"

" _My_ witching ways!? _I_ seduced _you_!?" Her finger is poking at her chest the same way she had done to him, and he pretends not to notice that the top that is wrapped tightly around her is giving him the most wonderful display of her cleavage. "You have some nerve! That was a two way street, and _you_ were the one that kissed me back _after_ I tried to stop it!"

She has him there, and he can't deny it. He lowers his gaze to the floor until he is sopping up his feet with his eyesight. "It won't happen again," he promises, although the words are more of a commitment to him than to her, "It was my mistake in falling for your treachery. I won't be as stupid as to fall for it again."

"But _why_?" Her voice is small and causes him to look up, although he instantly regrets it. Her eyes are resembling that of a porcelain doll: big and sad and full of questions that he doesn't want to answer. If she even thinks about crying, he's ending the transmission for good. "Why are you punishing yourself for something you enjoyed? Why are you punishing me for something that _I_ enjoyed?" She bites her lower lip and his finger hovers over the red X again, preparing to stay true to his word. "Why are you settling for having nothing when you can actually _feel_ something, huh?"

He's trying to concoct the perfect reply to shut her down, but he comes up empty. The weight of her words has him feeling like he has to tiptoe around her precious 'feelings' that she badly wants to protect, and he hates it. She's staring at him intently, as if she's not going to speak unless he gives her a proper answer. After a while he sighs, resting all of his weight on his arms as he leans forward on the monitor, his head hanging low with regret.

"I don't know what you want from me, and whatever it is I refuse to give it."

"You've already given it. You're acting as if I'm asking for your hand in marriage."

He brings his head up slowly, his next words spoken with conviction. "Is that _not_ what you'll be after in the long run? For me to replace your simpleton of an ex?"

She throws her head back and laughs, something that catches him off guard. Her reaction is perplexing, as if he's just told a joke that only she knows the punchline to. "God no!" She exclaims, resting her hand on the top of her heavy breasts. Vegeta swallows the desire to run his tongue over them again. "I _hardly_ think you'd make good boyfriend material! I'd be surprised even!" Her face turns serious, and she's staring at him through the monitor with eyes that glint with a smile. "Look, Vegeta, all I know is that when I was with you that one time, the loneliness was easier to deal with. In fact, it wasn't even _there_. You made my body feel so _good_ ," she looks away and her cheeks are the color of cherries, and she's massaging her neck as if she's remembering the feeling of his lips on her skin. "And I'm not ashamed to say that I'd like to feel that again." Then her eyes float back to him, and his breath has hitched from the arousal that's made her eyes narrower. "Wouldn't you?"

He swallows roughly, unable to tear his eyes away from the monitor although every inch of his brain is _screaming_ for him to end the call. He's walking into dark waters again, he can even feel the tips of his boots soaking with fire water, but he doesn't stop himself from wading. He doesn't want to say the reply on his tongue, the _yes_ that's begging to be spoken. Instead, he's mustering up enough words that she can read them from his eyes. Her fingers trail over the tops of her breasts again, and he realizes that she does.

"Stubborn, stubborn Vegeta," she whispers, and her other hand joins the first, slowly lowering her top. He foolishly follows her movements with predatory eyes, drinking her up with his growing lust. She pushes her chair back away from the monitor and all he can see are her breasts, soft and full and begging to be touched. She's grabbing them and squeezing them, her fingers playing around with her hardened nipples. "What are we going to do with you? I think I liked it better when it was _you_ touching me like this."

Damnit, damnit, _fuck_! She's doing it again! She's using that scientific brain of hers to concoct some witches brew, one that's making him a sucker all over again. His breathing gets heavier as a soft moan spills from her plush lips, the pleasure she's giving herself making his cock begin to stand at attention. _He_ should be doing this to her. "Stop it Bulma," he growls, but he doesn't _really_ want her to stop.

"Oh, Vegeta," she ignores, her hand traveling down the smooth planes of her stomach, "I've _never_ had a man touch me the way you do." He wants to call her out on that, ask her if her _boyfriend_ is incapable of making her cum as hard as he has, but he doesn't want to know the answer. Not when he's throbbing below with the memory of her walls surrounding him, and certainly not when his own hand is tingling with the desire to touch himself. She props a leg on the dashboard of her lab, giving him a full display of her most private of parts. He never got a chance to see her in all of her glory in the darkened lab, but _holy shit did she have some impressive genitals._ Vegeta can no longer stop himself, and his fingers ghost over the imprint of his pants.

Her delicate fingers stroke her soft hair, sitting neatly over her lips, the rest cleanly shaved and pink and demanding to be licked. Or fucked. Or both. She lets out a breathy sigh as they explore further down, lightly massaging her clit. "You're so good at this," she whispers before a moan breaks through, and Vegeta's just about soiled the front of his pants in cum, " _So_ much better than I can do right now." She's cupping her breasts harder, her finger picking up the pace. The pinks of her folds become slickened, reminding Vegeta of how wet she was before he even touched her. Is it as slippery as it was that night, he wonders? A part of him wishes he would have tasted her, just to satisfy his curiosity of what she would have left on his tongue. His mouth his dry, but the tip of his cock is not. Her moans bring him back to reality, and now he's cupping himself with no restraint, unable to fight back against her art of seduction.

Finally he lowers his pants just enough to set his bulging cock free, the hardened thing springing about and singing songs of its thanks for Vegeta finally taking care of business. He's stroking himself to the same rhythm of her fingers, imagining that _she's_ taking care of this itch for him, that it's her mouth or fingers or _whatever the hell she would like to use_ that's making his mouth hang open with a grunt. Bulma smiles mischeviously, her lips caught somewhere between a mewl and a laugh. She takes her eyes off of his for a second and stares at his arm before rolling them back to his face. "Are you getting yourself off, Vegeta? Are you wishing it was me, _pretending_ that it's me?" Her fingers are replaced by her palm and she rubs herself with renewed force that makes her growl, his name caught on the edge of her lips. "Like I'm pretending that it's you?"

He still can't answer her, doesn't want to give her anymore satisfaction. The intense pacing of his hand moving up and down on his shaft should be enough, the flash of pleasure that's pulsating in his head should be enough. She laughs heartier this time. "Such a man of many words," she teases before her fingers disappear in the tiny hole of her pussy. "Won't you even moan for me?"

He bites down the moan that was coming, instead replacing it with a snarl. Fucking woman, can't she just shut up and _enjoy_ this like he's doing? Her fingers are moving in and out of her just like he was, her skin covered in her juices. Her panting breaths are increasing and she can't take her eyes away from him. And even though he wants to, he can't either.

"Vegeta…" she moans, and he feels conflicted about hearing her say his name like that. On one part, the dominant genes of heritage are screaming with territorial urgencies, and the other, his more rational brain, wants to tell her to never say his name again, especially if she's going to say it like _that_. It doesn't, however, slow down his stroking, and in fact makes him rush towards the ocean of his orgasm.

Soft, squishing sounds are coming from the monitor as she's plummeting in and out at an impressive speed, and he's keeping up with her. He's placed a flat palm on the monitor near her head, as if he can really reach out and touch her. "Oh _fuck_ ," she squeals, her arm moving so fast that he's sure she could survive in a battle if need be, "Oh fuck, _Vegeta_ , I'm going to cuhhh…." Her words die on her lips as she squints her eyes and lets her red lips fall open, the juices of her arousal spilling out and making a mess of her computer desk. The walls of Vegeta's pent up frustration break down as he makes a direct eye contact with her, letting out his first and only grunt as he spills himself all over the floor of the spaceship. He has to fight it, but her name almost spills from his tongue as he becomes possessed by pleasure.

Her fingers slow down and she catches her breath, and he struggles to do the same as he jerks off the last bits of his orgasm. He's expecting to feel embarrassed or foolish after he spills the last of his seed, but all he can think of is how refreshing she looks post orgasm, considering he turned from her the first time. For a split of a second, he's starting to wish he'd never done that.

"Oh my," she giggles, putting her leg back to the ground and standing up. She disappears from the camera and Vegeta uses the opportunity to clean himself up with a towel. His head is spinning with the aftermath of what just happened, but he still waits for her to come back to the screen. When she does, she's properly dressed, and only the glow of her cheeks is an indicator that she just screamed his name in the peak of her pleasure. She clears her throat and runs her fingers through her shoulder length hair, staring at Vegeta with knowing eyes. _The witch!_

"By the way, before I forget, you'll be pleased to know that your cells helped me out a _ton_. Using our best analytics team, I was able to pin point a singular genetic trait in you and Goku's ancestry that I would've never been able to notice before. So thank you."

"And what does that mean?" he speaks for the first time since they began, his voice croaking.

Her eyebrows join together with a satisfied grin and she rests her chin on the back of her hands. "It means when you get back here that I can inject you with the same preventive medicine that I gave to Goku. It can fight off several diseases of Earth, as well as some hereditary illnesses that must have come from your home planet. My research shows it's most likely a Sayian illness that claims Goku in the future, not an Earthling one. You two may be able to stay as healthy as you can for a _long_ time thanks to me." An arrogant smile ruptures across her face, and Vegeta is almost tempted to say _good girl_. Almost.

"Who says I'm coming back?" He replies instead, although he _is_ feeling the pride of having the genetics to produce such an incredible medicine.

Bulma raises an eyebrow, smiling at him cockily. "Look down," she says simply, and he finds himself doing it. The floor between his feet is sticky with his cum, and he curses. " _That_ says you're coming back. Unless you want to have your hand do for you what I can do better." She tosses her head back and laughs and he groans. 

"You are a pain in my side, vulgar female!" He shakes his fists at her to let her know he means business, but by the glimmer of her eyes, it's not working. "It'll be a cold day in hell before I _ever_ return to that mudball planet of yours!"

"Funny that you say that," she pulls up a calendar and places it before the monitor, touching a date that is scheduled seven days from now, "Because the forecast says it's supposed to be _really_ chilly on this day. The same day that you'll arrive back, if you get off your high horse and come home. Your fuel level won't make it past seven days."

He clicks his teeth and she giggles, reaching above the monitor. "I have to go, Vegeta. I'll see you when you get back." She waves at him before the screen goes blank, cutting off his words of protest.

She's the single most infuriating woman he's ever met, and that's saying a lot. He can't believe that she even _thinks_ that she's gotten him under her hand this way. As if she knows what's on his mind to predict his movements. Pathetic wench of a woman.

Nonetheless, Vegeta's got some cleaning up to do. He's off to fetch another towel and some cleaning spray, but not before opening the control panel to reset the coordinates back to Capsule Corps. He'd show her.

oooOOOooo

 _I'm not sure if I will write another chapter after this, as I'm sure we all know what happens when Vegeta touches back down to Earth ;). Hope you guys like this one as well!_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Saiyan Cells: The Finale**_

oooOOOooo

A bead of sweat races down Bulma's cheek as if it has a point to prove, and she doesn't bother to wipe it away, instead letting it fall triumphantly to the floor of the gravity chamber.

Her hands twist and turn inside a bot, weaving wires together as if they are waltzing, and finally she has it done. Well, she has _one_ done, but scattered around her body are about a dozen more, sitting lifeless until her dutiful fingers can breathe into them again.

She hopes that fixing them will ease the waterfall of thoughts that are birthed in her brain, but of course that doesn't work. After all, she isn't fixing these bots because _she_ has nothing better to do. In fact, it's quite the contrary. There's a stack of papers on her desk right now that are demanding her lab coat and attention, but she forgoes her work attire for an old pair of overalls and a tube top, something that will give her some breathing room for the next several hours. Her eyes roll up to the calendar before she can grant them permission, and she tries to mask the smile that spreads across her mouth. Vegeta is due back in two days. She wants to pretend she isn't excited, that Vegeta returning to Capsule Corps will be a bigger pain in the ass than she has time for, but the lie is gone as quickly as it came. _Every inch_ of her body is ecstatic with anticipation, even though she knows her goal will not come as quickly as she would like (and neither will _she_ , for that matter).

But still…

She shuts up her wandering thoughts and focuses back on the task set before her, setting the bot down gently against the wall. She scoops another one up and immediately gets to work, her hands on autopilot as they dig through the compartment to rewire and reset the functionality of the bot. _He'd better appreciate this_ , she threatens the silence in her head, _otherwise I'm going to blow every single one of these up in front of his smug little face!_

She doesn't even notice the hours that trickle by, and before she knows it she has four completed bots joining the first, and Bulma smiles a bit at her collection. _Only eight more_ , she thinks with glee, and she swallows down the hours she estimates this will take. If she thinks about it, she'll get discouraged. If she works through it, she'll be too tired to do anything else. But at least _one_ person can be happy, if that one person even knows _how_ to be happy.

 _He seemed pretty content when he was inside of you._

She chuckles to herself at the subconscious thought and goes back to work.

She's starting to wish she had put on a different top instead of this constricting one that displays her arms and midriff, because, _god,_ did the temperature really drop in here. She shakes it off, telling herself she can enjoy the warmth of a bath and delicate sheets _after_ she's finished. Something to look forward to at least.

She's assuming that the long hours are finally getting to her, because she's having to squint harder to see the wires and control panel whereas before it was on full display. The white paint of the bot has been stained red, and Bulma checks to see if she's injured herself before she realizes the entire room has been soaked in the color of blood. She lets out a frustrated groan and prepares to turn around, blaming the shift in lighting to some random schmoe that works in maintenance. She sets the bot on the ground in disappointment and turns around….

…To be swallowed completely in the shadow of Vegeta.

Instinctively she scoots back towards the wall, a yelp escaping from her lips before she can manage to stifle it. Vegeta looks at her with his trademark scowl, his arms folded across his chest as if he's trying to keep himself warm from the frigid air. The red light of the room makes his face even more sinister, as if she's staring at the devil himself. _Close enough._

"Vegeta," she presses a hand to her chest and tries to settle her beating heart, woken in fright of his announced arrival, "You weren't due back for at least two days! How'd you get here so quickly?"

His stoic expression hasn't changed, and Bulma realizes that he's not looking at her. His eyes are burning into the neat pile of reconstructed bots lined against the wall, and the indents of his mouth curl downward into a frustrated frown. The silence wages on before he scowls, replacing the void of his words with a, "I thought I told you I didn't need them."

Bulma follows his line of sight to the wall guiltily, until the ache in her lower back reminds her of what she's been doing for the better half of the day. Suddenly a fire blazes in the lining of her belly, and she allows it to soar through her body until it douses her words. "Well welcome back to you too, _asshole_ ," she stands to her feet and mimics his stance, folding her arms across the front of her jean overalls, "You have a funny way of saying thank you!"

"I'm _not_ thanking you," his words drip with anger and he at last brings his stare to her, flashing the most god awful evil expression he can muster, "Why should I thank a disobedient shrew who's prancing about in _my_ chamber?"

Bulma grits her teeth and clenches her fists, unable to believe that Vegeta could amaze her _yet again_. "I don't even know why I was looking forward to you coming home. You're a pain in my fucking ass!"

"Hmph," one side of his mouth has uprooted crookedly as he smiles, "Believe me when I say that the feeling is _entirely_ mutual."

"Oh?" Her eyebrow raises and she places a hand on her hip, grinning at him knowingly, "So you _were_ excited to come home? Don't try to change your face now, you've already said it!" Indeed his face has dropped and his lips try to sputter out some sort of response, but Bulma isn't letting him go that easily. She's enjoying watching him squirm in discomfort, then perhaps he can feel _half_ of her humiliation every time she's forced to sleep under the baritone of his silky voice. "I knew you couldn't stay away from such a beautiful genius like me, Vegeta. I don't know why you would even kid yourself!"

"Shut up!" His fists clench and his eyebrows squish together until they form a singular line, but even the red of the room can't hide the red that stains his cheeks, and it's more than enough evidence to let Bulma know she's hit some nerve of the truth. "Every time you speak, you give an insult to my intelligence! Talking with you, among other things, is a complete waste of my time!"

This makes Bulma's giddy disposition crumble and it's her turn to scowl. "Among _other_ things?" Sleeping at the bottom of her words is a sliver of hurt, but Bulma tries to hide it as best as she can, although the daggers coming out of her mouth are enough to cut the tense lines of Vegeta's face. "You mean _sleeping_ with me? That's funny, because it sure as hell didn't seem like you cared about your precious time when you came for me! _Twice!_ "

Vegeta's face has darkened to the shadow before midnight, reminding her of the brute that appeared on television and threatened to blow up the planet. She finds herself thrown back into time under the fear that accompanied the almighty Prince Vegeta. She wants to tell herself that they're two different people, that there's _no way in hell_ she would open up her legs to some mass murderer, one who didn't show an ounce of redemption anyways. Gohan had said so himself; Vegeta wasn't the same asshole that came to earth (albeit _still_ an asshole), and maybe his father was right in the act of leaving him alive. But the way his stare burns her up makes her skin crawl with regret, and she's hoping that she's either A) as hopeful as Goku or B) not as naïve as he is.

"I never slept with you!" He barks out, his pitchy voice a contrast to his gruesome face, "I may have… _mated_ with you, but there was no act of sleeping at your side at all!"

Bulma can't help but to throw out a laugh at his misunderstanding and her own inability to trust herself. Vegeta's still got a long way to go, but _that_ Vegeta that came to earth with the bald man would have burnt a hole in her chest by now. _This_ Vegeta was entertaining at least, if not flustered.

"What the hell are you laughing at!?"

Bulma waves him off, shaking her head and biting back the last few chuckles that form in her throat. "You are a piece of work, Vegeta," she swallows and folds her arms across her chest, "I feel sorry for the harem of ladies you've left high and dry across the galaxy. Not sleeping with them, indeed!"

Vegeta raises an eyebrow at her accusation, making Bulma doubt her words. Surely, she's right, isn't she? There's no way that Vegeta, asshole extraordinaire, could have planet hopped around the solar system and _not_ have his share of women to bed? Bulma runs her eyes over him, completing an imaginary check list. He is _handsome_ , she admires, with his sharp jawline and piercing eyes, the features of his face complimenting each other in a way that seems man made and not pure genetics. The physique that he works so hard to maintain would make any female creature want to run her fingers down him, and after seeing his performance first hand, Bulma convinces herself that he must have had _tons_ of practice. But the honest question that is sitting dormant on his face makes her want to retract her theory.

"A harem of women?" He inquires, running his tongue over the repetition of her words, "What makes you think I've willingly supplied my reproductive organ with the vile females of the planets I've frequented?"

Reproductive organ. Right. Leave it to Vegeta to be that much of a prude to be so politically correct. "Haven't you? After all, you so willingly shared your _dick_ with me! What leads me to believe that others haven't had the magic of your _cock_?"

"You vulgar, impudent , lousy…" he grits his teeth and trails off, taking his eyes off of her momentarily as he tries to shake off her cheeky descriptions, "For starters, you sound like some jealous lover-"

"- I'm _anything_ but that!"

" _And two_ ," he holds up two fingers to emphasize his words, "You couldn't be more than wrong. I won't have you verbally tarnishing the sanctity of a Saiyan elite -of a Saiyan _prince!_ I'll have you know, not that it's any of your business, that I have only bedded three women in my entire life, and that's including the misfortune of yourself!"

Bulma's too busy chewing over his admission to take offense to his slight, and she blinks away her disbelief. " _Only three!?_ That's impossible to believe!"

"Just because you've probably opened your legs to lots of others doesn't mean the same for me! Unlike you, I have some sort of class!"

"Excuse me!?" Bulma can't wrap her brain around his audacity, watching keenly as his frown mimics hers. "I'll have _you_ know that other than Yamcha-"

"- _Tch_."

"-I've only slept with you! Maybe the feeling is foreign to you, but I only share my body with men I actually _like!_ Although at the moment, I'm wondering how you even made the list!"

"Men you like?" He repeats it as if it's acidity on his tongue, and Bulma realizes the error of her words. Men she likes? Does she _like_ Vegeta? Sure she liked the way he made her body feel, and she liked how she molded perfectly around him, as if their bodies were made to join in that way. But other than the sex, can she say she _likes_ him? He is broody and temperamental, and sometimes she wishes she could replace the devil mask that can steal his face. But then there's other times, small tidbits that only she gets to see of another Vegeta entirely. Like when he's made her plate for breakfast (although he claims it's just so he can have as much as he wants without hearing her mouth) or when he cuts his shower early so she can have some hot water (something he also denies). And if she closes her eyes entirely, she can still picture the way he looked at her and demanded she look at him as their bodies synched in unison until they both rode the waves of their orgasms.

With a sharp intake of breath, Bulma realizes that maybe, okay, she _does_ like him.

"Woman," he continues, "Don't _ever_ lump me in with that inferior weakling. And furthermore, I never asked you to _like_ me. You'd have to be a complete fool to like someone who blew up planets for the fuck of it! Do you know what I've seen? Do you know what I've _done!?_ Do you know who I worked for? 'Liking' me is probably the dumbest thing you could ever do, and that's saying a lot!"

"Yeah but," Bulma's stomach churns as she listens to him spew out these facts about himself. Yes, there's no denying who or what Vegeta is, but she has to take a second to put herself in his shoes. She thinks, with consideration, that if she was plucked from her stem and poisoned before she had a chance to bloom, would her decisions and outlook on life reflect his own? "Wasn't it Frieza who made you into that type of guy? I mean, Goku is from the same planet as you, and even _he_ could change under the right influences." _And a hit on the head, but that's for other matters entirely._ "Maybe you just haven't had a chance to show you can really be, outside of your insane strength and smug demeanor."

The expression on Vegeta's face softens to melted butter, and even his arms unfold as he soaks up her words, making the lining of Bulma's stomach become replaced with feathers. There's something serene about seeing his face like this, even if it's quickly erased by his hardened stare. "I am a warrior. There is no changing that. No amount of influence from this mundane planet or _its inhabitants_ ," he squints his eyes at her, "Will make me something that I'm not."

"Then why," Bulma forms the question immediately, studying the way the crimson lights soak up his face, "Are you even here? Why did you come back? You could've gotten your fuel and left by now, and I would be none the wiser."

The question appears to throw him off guard, and he clicks his teeth and looks away from her as if he's been doused in shame. The silence stretches between them, with only the hum of the generator keeping the room from drowning in quiet. Bulma's patiently waiting to hear his reply, if not to ease her own curiosity. _Why are you here, Vegeta? What's your game here?_

Finally Vegeta seems to have had enough of the muting of words and takes a deep breath, still not bothering to look at her. "As it turns out, I need some more training before I can ascend. My current power level isn't nearly enough."

 _Bullshit_. Bulma knows that the space ship Vegeta stole has the same functionality as the gravity chamber; although it only goes up to 300gs instead of the 500gs Vegeta has become accustomed to. But even with the differences, someone like Vegeta could _easily_ use that to his advantage for training purposes. If he wanted to, that is. The only reason why Vegeta would come back to Earth other than to refuel is because he has some ulterior motive. And perhaps, she hopes with a glimmer of hope in the spaces between her teeth, that ulterior motive has blue hair and a great personality.

She smiles at him softly and hums, turning her back to him. "Whatever you say, tough guy," she crouches down so that she's on her knees again and reaches for a bot, "Well, I suppose if _that's_ the reason then you wouldn't mind staying around while I work on the rest of these? It will make the time go by faster."

"That _is_ the reason, and you can more than manage the work yourself."

" _Sure_ ," she casts him a wicked glare over her shoulder, her short hair swimming over her cheeks, "Whatever you say, Vegeta."

There is nothing else spoken between them and Bulma appreciates the silence. After all, their conversation is playing in a loop inside of her head like a spinning record, and she tries to marinate over her newly found discovery. So she likes Vegeta. Whatever. She likes _lots_ of people. Like Goku or Krillin, and Tien and Chiaotzu, and even Master Roshi in all of his lechery. She's sure that somewhere in the confines of her heart, there's even a place for her to like Yamcha as well. And most of these guys formed their early days in her mind like a blemish, and they'd become some of the best people she'd ever known. But none of them, _none of them_ , makes her feel incredibly flushed like Vegeta has.

He clears his throat from behind her, and initially she thinks it's because of the draft in the room, but then he does it again. She turns up to glance at him and finds him burning a stare through her forehead. She shudders and turns back to work, not wanting to tip toe in another verbal match with him. Not yet, not so soon after she's trying to glue together her wandering thoughts. But then, like always, Vegeta surprises her.

"Bulma," he says, her name sounding so clear and concise on his tongue, like he's in a rush to get it out. She turns around startled, still not used to hearing him talk to her so formally yet. His eyes dart to his feet like a sheepish boy about to ask for an extra piece of candy. He clicks his teeth and runs a hand through his hair. "Damnit!" He mutters under his breath, finally rolling his eyes back to her. "I don't know how to do this."

"How to do _what_?" She says slowly, unsure (but hopeful) as to what he means.

"At how to…" He clenches his jaw as if he needs to taste his reply before spitting it out, and Bulma waves her hand to get him to continue before he loses his nerve. "At how to…express…my desire."

Bulma's chest tightens and she drops a wrench to her feet, abandoning the bot that she is almost finished with. "Your desire?" She repeats in an almost whisper. "And what would that be?"

He's staring at her as if that answer can be found in the curve of her lips, and before Bulma can repeat the question, he's descended on her, pushing her back against the floor. His eyes are dark and penetrating, making her feel as if she's swallowed up by a league of shadows. Her body reacts naturally as it heats up, anticipation swirling around in her belly at being pinned down by someone so powerful. So dark. So _sexy_.

"Bulma," he repeats again, but he says her name as if it's a death sentence, "I don't know what you want from me."

Bulma shrugs, letting a slip of a breathy laugh escape her lips. "Well that's good, because neither do I."

"This could be bad for the both of us."

"Isn't everything always bad at some point or the other? What makes this any different?"

His eyes slide down her body, and he doesn't look back at her as he says, "I could break you. In more ways than one."

"I know."

He drags his stare back to her face and his eyebrows raise in question, completely thrown off guard by her admission. Bulma looks back at him as if the secrets to the universe lie in the furrows of his brows, in the hollows of his eyes. His face is always tense, always quizzical, always pondering the weight of everything. It drives her absolutely mad. On instinct, she reaches up to touch him, as if her fingers are made up of magic and can erase every doubt that is found on his flesh.

She's surprised when he doesn't knock her hand away.

"You smell _different_." He crinkles his nose up and Bulma is embarrassed, knowing that she's generated enough sweat to fill a tank. With shame, she draws her hand away, looking to the wall.

"I should probably shower," she says in a low tone, "I've been working for a long time, and contrary to how it feels now, it was burning up in here earlier."

"Not _that_ ," he growls, tipping her face back to him. Bulma's moved by the gesture, but more importantly, she's wondering what the hell he means. "I know the smell of sweat, _especially_ on you. There's something else that wasn't there before," he dips his head into her neck, taking a long whiff. It's been about a month since Bulma has had him this close to her skin, and goosepimples break out across her chest. Vegeta presses his nose closer, as if he can search for the smell itself in the blue of her blood.

"What are you talking about, Vegeta?" She asks, but he's still on his mission, sniffing through the crease in between her breasts, and the insecurities of underboob sweat consume her. She wants to tell him to stop it, but his fingers have removed her overalls and they drop to the floor beneath her, the straps spreading around her like wings. Bulma blushes as she feels his nose tickle her belly button, and lets out a startled yelp when he brushes her panties to the side. She perches her neck up and looks down at him, seeing the flicker of his hair swim across her abdomen. She stifles a sigh as his nose buries into the folds of her privates, and she's convinced that Vegeta doesn't understand the sexual undertone of his actions.

"It's coming from this area," he uses a finger to tap her belly and traces down to her vagina, looking at her accusingly. "What did you _do_ to yourself?"

Bulma scowls and glares at him, her top lip curling over her teeth. "I haven't done anything to myself, asshole! You're making it seem like I stink down there!"

"I never said it was a putrid smell, woman! It's not, and it's not even coming from _here_ ," he taps at her privates again, his fingers unknowingly brushing over her clitoris, making a moan slither through her throat. "It's deeper than that, a smell that I've _never_ encountered on anyone." He taps his chin and looks at her body curiously, making Bulma anxious. "I can't figure it out."

"You needed to do _all of that_ just to satisfy your curiosity!?" Her body is screaming for him to please her, and she's shifting her hips to give him some sort of ideas, but it appears that his current dilemma is clouding his other senses. Bulma could just about drip with the arousal that's pooling between her legs, and she's debating about crushing his head between her thighs until he gets _the fucking point._

"Do what?"

" _That!"_ She indicates to his finger placed idly on her folds and Vegeta looks down before staring back at her with a wicked grin. Uh oh.

"This excites you? My head being so close to you down here?" She wants to nod her head, but he's several steps ahead of her, removing his gloves with his teeth and parting her lips. "So it's true then; Earthlings _do_ have multiple ways of pleasure." He breaths hot air against her clitoris and Bulma shivers, biting down on her lip.

He stares at her darkly, running a finger up and down her slowly, his dark eyes eating her up. "You never cease to amaze me with your vulgarity. You're a scientist, so I suppose hypothesis are hidden gems to you. Let's conduct an experiment of our own, shall we? What happens to you if I…." He trails off, and Bulma wants him to continue his sentence, but his molten eyes stick to hers as he lowers his head until she can no longer see the features of his face.

Bulma throws her head back with a cry as she feels his tongue lap her up like a kitten to milk. She can tell he's experimenting as his tongue explores her wetness, and Bulma has to grab onto his hair to keep her sanity afloat. She's always wondered what this would feel like, having a hot mouth in between her legs, licking her up like she was their personal desert. Yamcha could never muster the courage to get so close, and only managed to look at _her_ before shying away and fucking her the old fashioned way. It was good, she could admit, but not earth shattering blissful like the pleasure Vegeta was giving to her right now.

" _Fuck_ , Ve-Vegeta," she quivers, whispering her gratitude as he feasts on her, his hot tongue making her thrust her hips in his face. He uses his hands to hold her thighs down, and then further apart as he buries his face in her more, making Bulma scream out. She can't tell where his salivating mouth begins and her own arousal ends, and soon she just feels like there's an ocean resting in the middle of her legs, and _god_ , it feels so fucking _good._ She can barely breathe right as he sucks and licks and discovers her body in more ways than she believed someone could. She's not sure if he's doing this for her or for his own 'hypothesis', but with every crescendo of her moans and sharp intake of her breaths, he seems to be more relentless on making her feel every wet stroke of his tongue.

"Right there! Right there!" She breaths out and rests her arm over her eyes, blocking out the red inferno lights until all she can see are stars. Vegeta obliges, continuing his gift to her by using his lips to gather her swollen clitoris in his mouth and sucking gently until Bulma cries out loudly. She gasps as she feels something thick enter her, and just as she's gotten adjusted to the curve of his fingers, he adds another, and Bulma wonders how it's possible that her body can feel so much pleasure.

"Hmph," Vegeta brings his head up slightly and Bulma opens her eyes to look at him, his chin shiny with her arousal, "Such a loud voice coming from such a small body. I hate it."

"F-fuck y-you," she stammers as his fingers slide in and out, the noises that accompany his actions letting her know that she's _close_ , "If you don't… _ohmygod_ …like it then you can st-stop."

"Oh?" His eyebrow raises challengingly and he listens to her, his fingers sliding out of her and leaving Bulma empty and cold. She immediately throws her body upright, her fists clenched at her sides. "You fucking jerk! Why did you stop!?"

"Didn't you say so? Maybe you should be more careful with the way you use your tongue."

"And maybe you should too!" She says, although the bite of her words have much more pleading than she would like, and her hips are moving suggestively against her will. Vegeta laughs darkly.

"Do you want me to continue? Or are you going to continue to insult my ears?"

"Pl-please!" She whispers, placing her dignity under her need to feel his mouth again.

"Please what?" He stretches his fingers back to her, already obliging to her request before she can ask it.

"Please…make…make me _cum_ , Vegeta!" She places her head back down as heat crawls to her cheeks, unused to being the one who has to do the begging. Being vulnerable with him is a new thing, but if it'll give them what they want, then…

Vegeta wastes no time in continuing where he left off, working at a much faster rate than before. His fingers are moving masterfully inside of her, so much so that if Bulma closed her eyes she would assume it was _him_ fucking her, filling her up. His tongue moves at a speed that Bulma can only achieve on her vibrator, and she makes a mental note to throw the damned thing away, wondering if she'll even need it anymore. A tightness brews in her belly, scorching hot with need, and Bulma feels it constrict and form until it's all she can think of, all she can feel. Her mind goes blank until she's nothing more than his rag doll, and she lets her oncoming orgasm build and build until her stomach feels like it's going to disband from her body.

She needs to touch him. She needs to thank him for this. Her fingers clench in his hair as her body snaps like a rubber band, letting him have his way with her as he licks and fucks and makes her cry with tears forming in the corners of her eyes. "Oh…oh my _god_ , Vegeta!" She bites her bottom lip and feels herself about to be slammed by the finale, wishing that he could stretch out this feeling for the rest of her days. " _God I missed you. Don't leave me again!_ " The admission spills from her lips and Vegeta grunts in the meat of her lips below, but Bulma doesn't care, doesn't think about it, as she melts under the intense rolls of pleasure than ransack through her body. It feels as if millions of dutiful fingers are massaging her muscles meticulously, and she folds under the orgasm until she's nothing more than a wilted rose petal. She cries out his name once more, her gratitude sleeping in the spaces between the letters, and she feels her body collapse after several long, splitting seconds of having the most pleasure Bulma has ever had. Her arm falls lifeless to the side as she lets his hair go, and she's convinced her bones have turned to jelly.

She doesn't even notice when Vegeta is leaning over her again, and it's only when she opens her eyes that she sees him staring at her intently, the same question stained on his face. She's too relaxed to pry into that prison of a mind of his, but she returns his quizzical expression with one of her own. "What is it?"

He clenches his teeth and wipes his chin with the back of his hand. "You still smell different," he says bluntly, "And you're wetter than the last time. It's strange."

"It isn't!" She fights back, although she rests an arm on the back of his neck, "If I'm 'wetter' than you can blame yourself!"

"That's not what I mean," he bites his teeth, and Bulma wonders how the hell can he be thinking about _that_ when he just made her cum as hard as he did, "You smell like there's two people on you. _"_ His lips curve downward and an expression that Bulma can only describe as territorial steals his features. _"Have_ you been with someone else?"

"No! Jealous much?" She wants to push him off of her, but he is too heavy and too strong to ever push away. Just like the feelings that she's coming to terms with for him. "You're the first and only person I've been with since my breakup!"

"Tch," he tries to run away from her words but it's clear that he's stricken by them, "Well there's no denying you smell like a mixture of you and someone else. I don't like it."

"Well I don't know what the hell _you're_ talking about, but you can drop it. I haven't slept with anyone other than you, and I'd rather be doing _that_ right now instead of arguing about it!"

"Whatever," Vegeta growls, but he reaches down and pulls his spandex over his head, his face mere inches from her. "Swear it, Bulma. Swear that if you're going to continue to seduce me, that I'm the only one."

"Scouts honor," she replies, wanting to feel him inside of her already, "And _I'm_ not the only one doing the seducing here. Regardless of what you think, my initial plan _was_ just to get your DNA."

"I think you were trying to get my _other_ DNA," he teases, and Bulma locks the memory away as the first time she's seen Vegeta smile for something other than his arrogance. "Speaking of which, do you still have that medicine you were going on about?"

"It's ready for you whenever you are," She shimmies off the underwear and overalls that are bunched around her feet as Vegeta finishes undressing them both, "Although I assume it'll be awhile before we can get to that."

Vegeta presses his face down to her lips and grunts a laugh, his breath tickling her skin. "Vulgar woman."

"Vulgar prince."

And as Bulma turns her head as Vegeta ravishes her neck, she spots the lifeless bots on the floor, knowing that there's no _way_ she'll have time to finish them by the end of the day.

oooOOOooo

 _OKAY THAT'S IT IM DONE THERE'S NOTHING LEFT HERE TO SAY OR DO!_

 _HAHA IN ALL SERIOUSNESS, YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST. I'm super thankful for your reviews, and your urging to make one last chapter. I hope this is satisfactory._

 _Also, in case I wasn't subtle enough, Bulma's pregnant. Yep….the early stages of pregnancy have befallen our dear Ms. Briefs after her first encounter with an alien prince. The lucky bastard._

 _Thank you guys for reading!_


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